


Silver lining

by When_Tommy_Met_Alfie



Series: When Tommy met Alfie AU [16]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Massage, Season/Series01 AU, Some hints of smut, wtma AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 08:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13759755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie/pseuds/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie
Summary: Alfie's back is acting up, Tommy takes care of his man. And comes to a realisation afterwards.





	Silver lining

**Author's Note:**

> Filling this kind request from Tumblr:
> 
> Hello. I just wanted to add one more voice to the choir to tell you how brilliant your Tommy and Alfie fics are, and to ask if it might be possible to have a little H/C going the other way? Alfie has so many aches and pains and I'd love to see Tommy taking care of him. :D <3<3<3
> 
> This is set chronologically as the latest work in this series (And as you may have noticed, i've re-ordered the series to make the all the stories come in the right order) So it's set just a month or so after Blood on my name. I've imagined this to be around a year or so into the relationship. This was also supposed to just be this short little fluffy thing, but then it turned into THIS LONG FLUFFY AND ALSO EMOTIONAL THING instead.

Tommy isn’t entirely sure when Alfie’s office turned into _their_ office. Maybe around the same time when it stopped being _Alfie is going to London_ and became, _we’re going back to London._  

One day, it just was.

He’s in it now, regardless. Their office. By his desk, taking care of the bookkeeping- because while Alfie may trust someone else to do it, Tommy doesn’t. And he does it well, so why give another person the opportunity to mess it up? 

He looks over to Alfie, who is sitting by his desk hunched over his papers. And who’s had a concerning frown the latest hour, at least. Which is why Tommy has spent quite little time working on the numbers, and quite a lot focusing his attention on this. 

The damp November weather is not doing his back any favours. 

Tommy is getting rather good at noticing when he’s got a bad day, or week. The way Alfie cranes his neck trying to remove some strain, and the way he furrows his brow as the ache begins to creep up into his head. This is a bad day. 

“You’ll only make it worse sitting like that,” he says, breaking the silence. “Your spine will end up permanently bent.” 

“We can’t all sit like we’ve got a fucking iron rod shoved up the arse,” Alfie mutters and glares at him, before looking down again. Tommy raises his eyebrows at this. That mood is a definite indication that something needs to be done about the situation. 

He closes the binder he’s working on and begins to gather up the papers covering the desk.  
  
“We’re going home.” 

Alfie straightens up and makes a poorly concealed grimace of pain. “What?” 

Tommy puts the now neatly piled papers into a drawer. “Home.” _Home,_ not just ‘your house’, anymore. “You’ve been in that chair for hours. No wonder your back is killing you.” 

“My back is fine. No worse than usual at least. Don’t worry your pretty little head.” Alfie adjusts his glasses and looks back down at the paperwork. “Got to finish this up tonight. But why don’t you run along? You could make dinner for a change.” He chuckles, as if the mere thought is funny to him. Tommy wants to be annoyed, but doesn’t have it in him. Because of the back. And because Alfie just _looks_ that way. Why is he so fucking attractive in those glasses? Or maybe it’s the rolled-up sleeves. Those arms always serve to make Tommy’s knees just a little bit weak, even after all these months. 

“I can see it all the way over here. You’ve been making faces the entire afternoon. I’m not blind, you know.” 

“Oh, I know that, sweetie,” Alfie mutters, eyes still on the papers. “Very flattered that you’re sitting there looking at me. But it’s all fine.” 

This pigheaded man… 

“It’s fine?” Tommy eyes Alfie very sceptically, but the look goes unnoticed. 

Alfie hums. 

“You’re not at all feeling like someone is poking your nerves with a red-hot iron rod?” 

“Not at all love.” Alfie waves a hand dismissively in his general direction, but is mostly ignoring him. Unheard of, otherwise, that he’s this brief in his answers. But Tommy is well versed in many other ways to get a man’s attention, and gets out of his chair. 

He walks around the desk and places a hand on Alfie’s shoulders, gently pushing him back in the chair as he straddles his lap. This earns him his full attention, at least. Alfie is usually the one to instigate things like this around the office. 

“So, if I asked you to lift me up and fuck me against that wall over there-“ he gives a pointed look to the mentioned area. “You’d be up for it?” 

“Getting all hot and bothered, are you? Should I cover up a bit?” Alfie smirks, infuriatingly smug as always. But two can play this game. 

“Maybe…” Tommy licks his lips and looks at Alfie through his lashes. “You know what those arms do to me.” Leaning in, he runs a hand down his chest and places a kiss right next to his ear. “And right now, I’d like them to pin me against the wall.” He slips his hand down to Alfie’s crotch and earns a hitched breath. “I’ll wrap my legs around your hips. Know how much you like that…” he rubs him through the fabric of his trousers. Alfie’s hands find their way to his hips, eyes darkening. But that’s not where this is going, Tommy has decided. Not tonight. 

“Unless of course, just the thought of getting out of that chair with me still on top of you makes excruciating pain shoot up your spine.” He says and straightens up. “And you’d rather go home and let me take care of you in our bed.” 

“Oh I recon I can manage-“ Alfie’s voice lacks some of its usual assertiveness. 

“Then be my guest. You’re usually very good at manhandling me.” It’s a challenge. 

Alfie takes a moment to think, clearly considering his options. His hands tighten a bit around Tommy’s hips, as if testing his limits slightly. That seems to be the determining factor. He sighs. “Fine. We’ll go home.” 

Tommy thinks he can see just the faintest of red tint Alfie’s cheeks under the beard. A bit embarrassed with himself maybe? Not used to his physical abilities failing him, clearly.

“No need to get all flustered,” he smirks, admittedly a bit pleased with the sight. Not often he gets the pleasure of making Alfie blush –the man is completely without shame it would seem. “Just give me an hour of your time, and I’ll have that back as good as new. You’ll be back to pushing me up against every available flat surface in no time.” 

Alfie’s hand grips his hair and tugs just hard enough to be a warning.. “You do realise, of course, that you’ll end up bent over my desk, yeah?” A wolfish grin crosses his lips. “The second my back stops being a fucking bitch. I don’t forget behaviour like this.”   

“Is that a promise?” Tommy dislodges himself from Alfie’s arms and stands up, pulling him to his feet as well. “But I do promise to take very good care of you in bed.” He quirks an eyebrow in a meaning gesture. “All of you.” 

Alfie seems rather pleased with this outcome. 

...

Once they get home, it takes an hour or two before they’re finally in the bedroom, because Alfie insists on trivial activities such as eating, but after that, Tommy gets his way and takes Alfie by the hand to lead him upstairs. 

“Take off your shirt and get on the bed.” He shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it over a chair, proceeding with unbuttoning his waistcoat. 

“Bossing me around now, are we?” Alfie slaps his arse as he walks by, hard enough to make him jump just slightly. “First that thing in the office and now this. Think we’ve got some disciplining to do, hmm?” 

“Another night,” Tommy states –promises- and takes off his boots, giving Alfie’s still very much clothed chest a look. “Now get that off, I’m not doing it for you.” 

“Oh, but I think you will.” 

Of course he will.    

Tommy patiently works all the small buttons open, and though he keeps his eyes at the task at hand, he can feel Alfie watching him. Then he pushes the suspenders off his shoulders and frees him of the garment, getting to work on the few buttons of the undershirt next.

Once Alfie is standing before him in nothing but his trousers, Tommy allows himself a moment to linger just a bit, because it’s a very nice sight, alright? 

“Eyes are up here, love-“ 

“I’m well aware.” He runs a hand down Alfie’s broad chest, giving it another long look before he remembers he had a plan at some point that he needs to stick to.  

Tommy gets out another sheet from the linen closet and spreads it over their usual sheets –could get messy, this. 

“Go on, on the bed.” 

And Alfie must be quite exhausted, because he seems to be out of witty remarks for now and just slumps down on the mattress with a sigh. 

Tommy retrieves a jar from the bathroom –something of uncle Charlie’s that he gave Tommy when he was still healing up from the injuries Sabini and his men caused. Both times. Should work some wonders on Alfie’s back too. 

Rolling up his shirtsleeves to his elbows, Tommy kneels on the mattress.   

“Can I sit on you, or will that hurt?” 

“If I ever say no to an offer like that, just fucking shoot me, alright?” Alfie mutters, voice muffled against the pillow. 

“I will if you don’t give me a straight answer.” 

A sigh is heard from the pillow. “It’s fine. Just stay away from the midriff and up.” 

Straddling him, Tommy seats himself on his buttocks and scoops up a bit of the ointment in his hands, warming it up between his palms before starting to gently rub circles over Alfie’s back.

“You’re stiff as a fucking board,” he mutters as he works his hands over the muscles around his shoulder blades, feeling the tightly wound knots that have formed there. 

“First time you’ve ever complained about that, eh?” Alfie reaches around and gropes him where he can reach, just in the general area of his thigh. Tommy grabs his wrist and presses the arm back against the mattress. 

“Would you stay still, you impossible man?” 

Alfie finally relents and relaxes back onto the bed. Tommy gets back to the matter at hand. He starts off with the slightly less painful areas, working through each muscle with equal dedication. But it should hurt a bit, otherwise it’s not helping. So he makes sure to rub just a bit too hard. 

“Are you using that strange shit that uncle of yours gave you?” Alfie turns his head sideways and grimaces. “You up to some sort of witchcraft with those hands?” 

“Sure. This has actually all been a very elaborate plan so that I can turn you into a frog. Take over your business.” 

The shoulders under his hands quake as Alfie laughs. Tommy smiles. Alfie thinks that he’s funny. He isn’t, really. Maybe he was once, before the war. But Alfie thinks that he still is, and that’s nice. 

“I admire your dedication,” Alfie turns his head the other way. “Could’ve just shot me or something. Smothered me in my sleep.” 

“Was going to, but I guess I got a bit attached.” Tommy works a particularly large knot with his knuckles, and Alfie hisses in pain. “This way, I can leave you in some nice pond somewhere. And you’ll lead a very happy life there. Good compromise.” 

“Feels more like you’re about to kill me doing this,” Alfie grunts and screws his face up. “Fucking hell.” 

Continuing to rub against the muscle in small circular motions, Tommy is satisfied to eventually see the tension around his eyes melt away. 

“Better?”

Alfie gives a noncommittal sound in response. Tommy furrows his brow in concentration and moves upward a bit. He wants to find whatever’s causing the headache. Between the shoulder blades, he finds another just as large knot. God, he’ll have to do this more often, not let it get to this point again. 

“What have I done to deserve this?” Alfie complains loudly when he digs his thumbs into it. “Am I not always good and kind to you? Fucking considerate and generous in bed-“ the words turn into just a pained sound. Tommy lets up for a moment, and the large body under him relaxes as Alfie sags against the mattress. 

“Well that needs to go,” Tommy states and gets on his knees to have better reach. “This will hurt.” It’s just a warning. Then he puts almost all of his weight on his elbow and pushes it against the muscle. 

“Thomas Michael Shelby I swear to God I will fucking murder you for this!” Alfie’s voice raises to a shout that may succeed in waking the neighbours up. Though they really should be used to it by now… When Tommy doesn’t relent and increases the torment by circling the elbow just slightly, Alfie resorts to shouting what he can only assume is a long string of curses in Hebrew, bunching the sheets up in his fists. But, needs must. Tommy knows Alfie could easily throw him off if it gets to be too much. 

After a little while, the shouts are reduced to a low, angry mutter, and Alfie’s hands loosen their death-grip on the sheets. Another minute or so later, he sighs, and the pained look on his face begin to fade. Tommy straightens up and sits back in his original position, then takes a bit more of the ointment into his hands.

“That’s the worst of it,” he promises. “Now we’re getting to the good part.” With slow, gentle movements he begins to rub the previously so tense muscles, using the heel of his hands to make sure no bony knuckles will dig in anywhere. 

Alfie buries his face in the pillow and relaxes as he works his way from his waist, up over his shoulders and back down again. 

“Fuck, that’s nice,” he groans, voice muffled. “May not have to murder you after all.” 

“Lucky me.” Tommy smiles, feeling very lucky indeed to have this man under him. 

The bedroom falls unusually quiet as Tommy continues massaging Alfie’s back in the same gentle manner. Only the sounds of the city outside -a car, some drunken yells from passer-byes - break the silence. That and the occasional appreciative moan from Alfie when he loosens a particularly tight muscle. But he doesn’t talk, for once. Exhausted, probably. A day of constant pain tends to do that to a man.    

It feels nice. To be able to take care of someone for once, without fucking it up. Alfie is good at that sort of thing, and Tommy always feel like he’s sorely lacking this ability. Sometimes he thinks he’s getting better at it. He tries at least. 

It’s not until he feels his hands and arms becoming weary that he realises he’s done this for quite a while now. Must’ve lost track of time. 

“How does it feel?” He leans down and kisses Alfie’s bearded jaw, one of the few places he can reach that isn’t covered in ointment. “Any better?” 

“Fucking brilliant.” Alfie turns his head from the confines of the pillow and grins lazily. “Now get those clothes off and take care of the front, yeah? Pretty sure there are some stiff parts there that need to be handled. Give those hands of yours a rest, though. Other ways to fix that.” 

Well, luckily, Tommy is rather good at this sort of treatment as well. 

“I need to go wash up,” he states and climbs off the bed. “You don’t want this stuff in any… sensitive areas.” Alfie rolls onto his back with a satisfied sigh, eyes closed. 

“You do that, love,” his voice is a bit slurred. “For your own sake, if anything.” Then he yawns.  

Tommy goes downstairs to the kitchen where they have running water to make the task simpler, and scrubs his hands quite vigorously. This could cause some burning in places he’d rather avoid it. 

He returns to the bedroom a little while later and stops on the threshold.

Looks like he’s not getting any tonight.

Alfie is asleep, limbs sprawled on the bed, head tipped slightly to the side and mouth hanging open. And he’s snoring. Tommy just stands there for a bit, smiling like a fucking idiot as he watches the sleeping man. Because it feels like his heart is about three sizes too big for his chest when he looks at him. Alfie is painfully handsome. Always. But he thinks now, as he takes in the peaceful sight, that he’s beautiful, too. Fucking beautiful. Every line, wrinkle and scar. 

Unlike him, to be this fucking soft. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe not anymore. This is all going to blow up in his face sooner or later… 

He fetches the spare duvet from the guest room, because Alfie is doing a quite job at hogging the entirety of theirs with his massive frame. After covering him with it, he strips down to his underwear and slips into bed, curling up as close as he dares. Alfie could usually sleep through a tank driving straight by their bed, but Tommy doesn’t want to risk anything when his back is acting up. So he stays just next to him, close enough to feel the heat radiate from his body. Alfie is like a furnace, which could’ve been a problem if Tommy didn’t have perpetually cold feet. Hands too, on a bad day. And while Alfie definitely mutters a bit whenever he digs any freezing limbs into his much warmer body, he always lets him keep them there. 

Tommy lies awake, listening to Alfie’s soft snoring in the dark. _It’s alright if he can’t sleep- nothing will happen, give it half an hour…_ If the shovels start, he’ll wake Alfie up: that’s the deal. One which he can’t always keep his end of, but he tries at least. And it’s getting better. Slowly. But it’s getting better. 

Suddenly, Alfie’s body jerks a bit and his breathing hitches. A hand fumbles over the mattress until it finds Tommy’s waist. His arm wraps itself around him and pulls him into that warm embrace. 

Then, the snoring starts again. 

Tommy falls asleep soon thereafter. 

...

Tommy wakes up with a persistent and very rare sunbeam shining straight into his face. Seems like he’s slept through another night then. But he’s moved around a bit, because he’s lying more or less on top of Alfie now, one leg slung over his hip and head resting on his chest. The arms around his back serve to keep him there. Tommy is in no rush to change that. 

For a little while, he lies there and just listens to the sound of Alfie’s heartbeat: that steady, soothing sound which always manages to anchor him when he disappears into his own head. When he forgets how to breathe and his own heart is trying to escape through his ribcage. 

He would be content with just listening to this sound for hours. Months. Years. The rest of his life. Maybe.

Eventually, he dislodges himself from Alfie’s arms, careful not to wake him up. Gets out of bed, puts a layer of clothing on and ventures downstairs. 

He makes tea. No food, because there’s a limit to this thing, and Alfie will have to do that part later. Tommy is pretty sure he can’t cook. Been a very long time since he even tried. Has he tried? He mulls this question over as he fetches the paper. 

Today isn’t a day for unnecessary adventures in the kitchen. He takes the tea upstairs, where Alfie is still sound asleep, face bathing in soft, warm light. Tommy sort of forgets what he was doing for a moment. It’s like an ache, this feeling in his chest. He can’t put words on it – _no, that’s a lie_ , of course he can. But he promised himself this wouldn’t happen again. It hurt too much last time, all those years ago, and he knows that was nowhere near this. Nowhere near this insane fucking thing that he’s suddenly almost a year into. Or has it been more than a year? With this unhinged, impossible, fucking man. Who is the only person in the entire world who sees straight through him and his bullshit. Who makes him feel like he’s sane and right, not just some broken thing with jagged edges that will cut anyone who comes to close. Like all the ugly things about him may not make him less human after all.  

Who has taken the small pieces of who he was before the war, whatever was left, and just held them. Stubbornly kept them safe. Kept them from withering away completely. 

It’s terrifying and beyond his control and everything Tommy hates, but it’s too late to change anything now. 

He pushes this realisation away –he’ll do something stupid if he keeps thinking about it. Ruin this. God, he’s going to fucking ruin this- 

Shaking his head just a bit to clear it from the intrusive thoughts, Tommy goes to sit on the bed, putting the tray with the tea down on the nightstand. He leans down, places a soft kiss on Alfie’s slightly parted lips. Needs Alfie to wake up and start rambling about something to help him get out of his own head. 

“Time to wake up,” he mutters and rakes his fingers through his hair. “Business to attend to and all that.” 

Alfie’s lips move under his, slowly responding to the kiss. Then he reaches up and cradles the back of his head to keep him there. 

He opens his eyes and smiles up at Tommy when he pulls away.   

“Now that’s a sight,” he says, voice raspy from sleep. “How did a pretty little thing like you end up with me, eh? Always wonder about that.” His gaze travels to the tray on the bedside table. “And half a breakfast in bed? Even after I fell asleep on you last night? A miracle if I ever saw one.” 

Tommy rolls his eyes and takes one of the cups into his hand.   

“Don’t get too used to this. I’m not a fucking maid.” 

“Shame, that… think you’d look bloody ravishing in a dress.” Alfie winks and runs a hand up between his legs. “Though maybe we’ll skip that layer, yeah? Go straight to the lingerie. Something in silk. Wouldn’t that be nice?” His thumb rubs gentle circles on his inner thigh. “Could wear it under your suit around the office, and I’d be the only one who knew… Bet that’d make for some fucking terrific foreplay.” 

Well, you learn something new about your partner every day. 

“Fantasy of yours?” Tommy quirks an eyebrow and takes a mouthful of tea, before reaching out for the second cup and offering it to Alfie. Grateful that Alfie has immediately thrown himself into one of these little musings, because it pulls him from his own thoughts completely. 

“Definitely is now.” Alfie sits up and puts an arm around him, taking the cup in his free hand. 

“Well you know I appreciate good clothing.” Tommy considers it. Could be a thing. “So if you get some shopping done, we’ll see about the rest.” 

Alfie nearly chokes on his tea. Baffled, for once. “Is that a yes?” 

Tommy offers a tiny shrug. “We’ll see,” he repeats and just has to smile because Alfie looks like a fucking child on Christmas day. How can he not indulge him in things like this when it makes him so ridiculously pleased?   

“And they say you can’t have it all,” Alfie proclaims loudly as he draws him closer against his side. “Yet here I am, right, just some old fool- with a beautiful man in my bed-“ He looks so fucking fond. “Just this unbelievably beautiful man, who I get to fuck every single night, can you believe it? And who takes such good care of all my aches and pains. Brings me tea and the paper in the morning. Like some fucking gift from above that I’m completely underserving of-“ 

“Oh fuck off-“ Tommy can feel the heat creeping up his neck. Fuck his pale complexion, completely useless when it comes to blushing, despite what he may have told Alfie all those months ago. He can keep his voice perfectly emotionless when held at gunpoint, but his skin is completely beyond his control when Alfie goes on like this. 

Alfie just continues his loud declaration, grinning from ear to ear. 

“This beautiful, funny, intelligent, reckless man- who I always need to keep on a fucking leash, right, because in spite of his brilliant head, he constantly has terrible fucking ideas- “ 

Tommy grabs Alfie’s jaw and kisses him to stop this stream of words. A laugh vibrates against his lips, but then Alfie kisses him back. “Shut up.” Tommy says as firmly as he can manage, releases Alfie’s face and reaches for the paper instead. 

Alfie’s hand squeezes his shoulder as he places a soft kiss in his hair. 

“How’s your back?” Tommy stubbornly keeps his eyes on the words in the paper and tries to will his cheeks to go back to their normal colour.

“Like brand fucking new,” Alfie states and drinks some tea. “Your witchcraft clearly did its job. Unless it was to turn me into a frog. Still feel pretty damn human.”

“Well since you caught on to that, I had to figure something else out.” Tommy flips to the next page. “Maybe the tea is just part of this new plan. You don’t know what I’ve put in it.” 

When Alfie laughs, in that loud, carefree way, Tommy’s heart clenches almost painfully in his chest. It’s him that’s lucky alright, to have _this beautiful, funny, intelligent_ man in his life. And if anyone is undeserving, again, it’s him. 

 _Fuck, why did he let this happen?_  

“Is that so?” Alfie looks smug. “Well then I’m very curious to find out about it.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect anything to happen for a while yet,” Tommy says nonchalantly, still with his eyes on the paper. “This is a more slow-working plan.” Alfie’s fingers are scratching the nape of his neck lightly. “It’ll all become clear one day, when you least expect it. So I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.” 

“Slow working eh?” Alfie chuckles. 

“Mhm.” As Tommy’s eyes scan the page in front of him, Luca Changretta’s name catches his eye. It’s coupled with some article about plans for a distillery on the waterfront… This is news, certainly. Must be a legitimate thing then, if they’ve got the papers writing about it. Why the fuck are they having the papers write about it? What are him and Sabini playing at? Pushing these thoughts away for now, he flips to the next page. It can wait until they’re in the office. Feels utterly meaningless right now, right here. Unimportant. 

Tommy blinks. 

It feels unimportant. Right now. 

And instead of thinking that his mind must be going – _it’s clearly already gone_ \- this realisation just makes his chest feel oddly light.   

“How slow, I wonder?” Alfie hasn’t seen the article –or, can’t make out the text, not wearing his glasses- so he’s blissfully unaware of the things going on in Tommy’s head. The last of the thoughts concerning the Italians leave his mind as he glances up at Alfie. 

“Could be a very long time.” 

“We talking years here, or…” 

Tommy has to look down again, pretend very hard to read something. The words slip out before he’s got time to overthink them, “Sure. Years, maybe.”. 

Rest of our lives, maybe. If you’d like. Terrifying thought.    

“Well I’m very much looking forward to seeing this plan unfold.” Alfie settles back against the pillows. “Now go on, why don’t you read me some of that blurry nonsense?” 

Tommy rests his head on Alfie’s shoulder and reads the fucking paper to him, but purposefully skips the article about Changretta for now to preserve this warm bubble. It’s cliché and sappy and so fucking normal. And Tommy is _so fucking happy_ it feels like his heart may just burst. 

And when he reads about a fire in some large distillery up in Scotland, Alfie thinks it’s a great time to talk about the Loch Ness monster of all things, and how ‘it’s probably not fucking real, I recon, but who knows, right?’ and by the way maybe they, ‘should go to Scotland, yeah? Wouldn’t you like that, Tommy, all that whiskey, you know…’ It turns into a whole long, detailed plan, and they’re going to be so late to the office and Alfie just goes on and on with no regard for anything, the way only he can. It’s somewhere around this point Tommy realises it. 

Fuck 

He has to admit it to himself. Can’t spend every waking moment trying to deny it, refuse to acknowledge what he’s probably known for months…

He’s in love with Alfie Solomons. Fucking hell, if this isn’t going to be what finally does him in… He’s in love with this fucking idiot. 

He must have this _look_ on his face, because Alfie suddenly stops and raises both eyebrows.

“You’re being unusually quiet, love. Even for you.” 

“Oh it’s nothing,” Tommy bites the inside of his cheek. “Just listening. I actually do that when you talk, on occasion. Go on.” 

Alfie knows something is up, but he leaves it be for now, and goes back to talking about Scotland. He reasons that the only downside is the bloody weather- Alfie hates most weathers.

Tommy listens. They’re going to be late. And he’s clearly lost his fucking mind. And none of that matters.

 

 


End file.
